my dog paws at my notebook, whines,
tries to pick up the pen lying on the floor
with his mouth. I imagine
he’s trying to write something, a letter
to the people who used to live
in this house. I say, no, bad dog,
you’re my dog now. I say,
those people moved away
and left you behind.
I watch nature documentaries where dogs,
lost at rest stops, escape from hotel rooms,
find their own way back home
from hundreds of miles away,
but that doesn’t apply here. I say no,
bad dog, sit still and listen
you old mutt.
you’re stuck with me.
you’re a part of this house.